His Green Eyes
by Blair.1907
Summary: AU. "I was convinced that I was the straightest man on the planet, until that one person walked into my life-and said person happened to be my own British, half-brother."  USUK, minor FrUk, RoChu
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

><p>"You eat those vegetables, Alfred F Jones!"<p>

I felt sweat collecting on my palms as I gripped the metal fork tighter than was necessary. The large portions of spinach seemed to grow even larger in all their hideous green glory. I poked the soggy mess tentatively before scooping a small, small bite into my mouth.

"Don't give me that face," my mother said, hovering over me as I directed a furtive glare her way. "You eat those up! You're a growing boy and you need your nutrients."

"This tastes yucky." I replied. The tart, bitter tang sat heavily on my tongue as I scraped it against my teethe. Ugh.

"Eat it up. All of it, Alfred." she stated firmly. Mother's words were law.

So instead of grumbling any further, which I learned no longer had any affect whatsoever, I lifted my fork and glared at the offending mound on my plate. I scrunched my nose and glared even harder. The spinach stems sort of stuck out in semblance of gnarled arms and legs. If I could pretend hard enough that it wasn't just a mesh of disgusting greens, perhaps I would be able to stomach it.

I sucked in a deep breath. Right now, I was Superman, and right there on my plate, was Lex Luthor. He was bound and gagged, and it would be the most perfect chance to finish him off. With a sudden fervour that surprised my mother, I dug my fork into the spinach and shovelled it barbarously down my throat.

"Finished!" I shouted, setting down the fork with a loud clang. Mother shook her head as she cleared off the plates from dinner. Father's meal sat untouched at the head of the table, still. She gave it a glance before heading towards the sink.

"You go now, go out and play."

"What about dessert?" I whined. It had been the unspoken deal, the underlying reason I had bared the suffering prior. "I saw ice cream in the freezer!"

"You may have ONE scoop." mother emphasized. "ONE."

"Only one?" I pouted, but as soon as I saw her face I promptly shut my lips. Best not to push my luck, I decided. One scoop was better than no scoop at all.

I bolted from my seat to the refrigerator, yanking the top compartment open to be greeted by a cold gust of air. There sat the tub I had been eyeing all morning, the black and white container that seemed to shine in all its godliness. It was actually just the lighting, but I could honestly care less.

"One, Alfred." my mother repeated as I set the tub down heavily on the counter. She handed me the scooper, as well as a bowl and a spoon. I eagerly ripped the lid off, impatiently tearing through the safety seal. The dessert was a light green colour, dotted by dark brown spots. Mint chocolate chip-my favourite.

"Yes!" I cried as I jammed the scooper into the frozen cream. I made sure to manoeuvre the scooper in order to make my one ball larger than normal, but mother caught on and ordered me to stop. In the end I had to settle with a smaller portion than I would have liked. I scuttled off to the living room, cradling the bowl as if it were my baby. I did not know what it was like to have a child, but I imagined it would feel something similar.

Ice cream was truly a difficult dessert to savour. If it was not eaten fast enough, you'd be left with nothing but a melted pool, something that was not exactly as attractive nor appetizing as its original form. If you ate it too fast, you'd be doused by a brain freeze. I once had one so bad after drinking an entire milkshake in one go, that I fell face first onto the edge of the fence out in our front yard. It had been one of the more embarrassing moments in my life.

Before I knew it, I was left with an empty bowl on my lap. The last drips of mint green had been licked clean, and I puckered my lips, already missing the cool, sweet taste. If I could be the ruler of my own country, I would make eating desserts an essential instruction to every-day life.

The stairs leading to my room seemed longer than usual today, as I managed to make it up short of breath. As I passed by the hallway mirror, I retraced my steps and faced the boy staring straight back at me.

Nothing much had changed, I decided, despite mother telling me that I had to be more conscious or whatever about my eating habits. Asking me to do such a thing was impossible-sugar consumption was to me a second nature. If I did not get my daily intake of glucose, I don't know how I would survive.

There was the same tousled, messy blond hair that could do good with a bit of taming, and a set of bright cerulean eyes. Perhaps the blue shirt I was wearing fit just a little bit more snug than it used to, and perhaps my chin seemed less prominent, but by no means did I feel, well, _fat. _I was happy, and if the teachings at school meant anything, then that was all that mattered.

I loved my room. It was the perfect scene of a battlefield; books were scattered, spread-eagle on the carpet. The bed was unmade, and shirts were strewn around the room in a random fashion. The closet door was left ajar, where just a small slit of its contents were visible. I liked to make sure that it was kept that way, 'cause you'd never really know what could be lurking in there at night. It wasn't that I believed in ghosts, but I felt it was necessary to be guarded at all times.

A while back, my mother had given up on trying to keep the mess in order. She would refuse to enter my room, like a solider staring into no man's land, and cross her arms to pelt angry words at me from the doorframe. However, they would just go in one ear and out the other. I think she realized that her words no longer had much affect, so resorted to glaring at me instead.

And the smell, apparently there was a certain, undesirable 'scent' that circulated in my room. I took a deep sniff, but all I detected was the unfinished fries from yesterday afternoon and the sticky sweetness of an opened soda can. I took another whiff, and let out a sigh of contentment. I loved food, and being surrounded by it made everything a little bit more whole than it should be. It was a shame that my mother did not understand that concept, but I found with many adults that they had more limited tolerations when it came to things like these. I didn't want to grow up, if it meant losing all the joy and spirit I was gifted from birth.

I flopped onto my stomach, keeping my head low, and crawled through the masses of socks and shirts from three days ago. I felt the rough wool of the carpet itching against my chin, but I remained on my belly. Right now, I wasn't Alfred F Jones-right now, I was Captain Jones of Division Two, making my way stealthily through the underbrush. Enemy Nazis could be hiding at any corner, and I quickly check under my bed and around my desk to make sure they weren't crouched ready to spring at me.

Looking to the door to make sure no one was peeking in, I quietly reached into the unknown cranny in my wall right behind my headboard. I withdrew a candy bar from the hidden storage, golden foil crackling beautifully against my fingers. I scuttled to the door, closed it, and took a leap that landed me on the bed. From under the covers I retrieved my stash of comics and flipped the first book I grabbed to a random page. I was brimming with happiness as I took a large bite from the chocolate bar. I was so happy, that it was easier to ignore the yelling that had begun downstairs. But by the time that I had all but finished my treat, I could feel the joy slowly trickling away again, and out the window. The ivory walls of my room suddenly seemed so cold, even while encumbered with posters of various sizes. The slight breeze rolling in from my open window was anything but welcoming, and the ticking of the clock on my wall seemed to sound heavier with each beat. What made everything worse, was the yelling.

Every night, it happened. It had become something I was accustomed to-it was part of daily life, I knew, that my father would come home and things would be quiet for a while but not for long. I never really thought about why they started yelling, or care to listen for what they were yelling about. After all, every family went through the same thing, right?

Mrs. Dubose, our science teacher, always stressed how important it was to ask questions. 'Never stop asking,' she had said 'because the moment you stop wondering, is the moment you stop learning.'

I don't think that rule applied for me, though. If not asking a question could spare me a beating, than I would gladly shut my mouth. Sometimes it was better not to question things.

I hoisted myself out of the bed, and gently plodded to the window. The air outside was fresh, but cold. It bit at my cheeks as I stuck my head out. Our back yard was a large rectangle of dark green, and because the sun was setting and things were getting dark, I had to squint to see things properly. I leaned out a bit further, looking down the rose bushes that grew directly beneath the position of my window. It wasn't that I had suicidal thoughts, I had always just been curious as to what it would feel like if I were to jump. Maybe if I had enough strength, I would roll right onto the soft grass. I never took the risk though, because if I landed in the rose bushes, I was sure to get a handful of thorns stuck in my behind. I had seen that happen to our neighbour once while he was trimming his garden. It looked like it hurt a lot.

A loud crashing sound brought me back to reality, and even though it wasn't a sound I hadn't heard before, it always managed to make my heart skip a beat every time. I nervously shuffled to the door, pushing it open as quietly as I could and crawling on my knees to the top of the stairs.

There was something that compelled me to listen in on their shouting today. Perhaps it was because I had never paid attention to them before and I was feeling exasperated with being clueless. Or perhaps it was because they believed I was ignorant and would never listen in, and maybe I'd learn some interesting secrets if I did.

"So what are you going to do now?" I heard mom's shrill voice ripping through the air.

"I don't know! She wants to send him over!" countered dad's even larger roar.

"So are you going to accept that, is he coming to stay with us?"

"I don't know!"

I furrowed my eyebrows. Him? Staying with us?

"You'd better know soon! I don't want to have to deal with any extra trouble that wasn't mine to begin with!"

"So now it's all my fault!"

"Of course! I wasn't the one who ran away and fucked a random whore!"

I felt my mouth twitch, as I tried to make sense of the swearwords. when I walked to school, I sometimes heard the older people at the bus stop conversing with the same language as I was hearing now. Would I use these words as well, when I grew up?

I think my father shoved a dining chair into the table, because the next moment I heard a resounding bang as the sound of a chair colliding with the kitchen tiles traveled up the stairs.

"Don't take out your anger on the furniture!" mom screamed. "You want to take your anger out, take it out of the house!"

"Why don't you get out of the house! And never come back!"

I felt my lungs clench as I gripped at the wooden railings. There was a very long silence, before I heard my mother's almost inaudible reply.

"Fine."

My legs acted on their own as I felt my body flying down the flight of stairs. My eyes were frantic, and I could feel the blood pounding in my head as I crashed through the kitchen door.

"NO!"

Both my mother and father turned their heads to me, words frozen at their lips. They were distanced a few arms length apart-thankfully-and looked just as flustered as I felt.

"Please!" I felt my voice rising as reality came crashing down on my head. There was only one way to go about resolving this, I figured, and it was to pull the blame on myself. For now.

"Please don't go!" I shouted, at the top of my lungs. "I don't know what I did this time, but I swear, I swear to GOD I'll change! I'll make myself better! Don't go!"

It worked. My father opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a strangled noise. My mother's eyes seemed to tear up as she moved quickly over to embrace me. Her hands stroked through my rough hair, her fingertips massaging my scalp. "I'm not leaving, it's okay," I heard her say in a wobbly voice. "I was not serious. It's okay, Alfie."

My father gave us an unreadable look before turning away. I heard the front door open and close gently.

The little voice in my head was cheering me on for the brilliant act, but my heart told me otherwise. It seemed to tighten with every passing pulse.

I never understood what people meant by being so sad they could laugh, but it was apparent to me now. I felt a happy little chuckle escape my throat as I hugged my mother back.

Inside, I was weeping.

The following few weeks passed by as they normally did. Surprisingly, the yelling I had grown used to every night stopped, and father and mother barely looked at each other when they passed each other in the house. I didn't mind, though. The quiet peace was a pleasant thing to my ears.

I liked my middle school. I was currently in my second year, and enjoying it thoroughly. I liked to learn new things, and I liked to voice my opinions. A good debate always got me going, and they usually had my blood pumping through my body. It was as exhilarating as running, but without all the effort. I liked that.

"Hey, did you finish reading the passage on page 73 yesterday?"

I turned around to come face to face with Braginski Jr. His eyes were the same, cold amethysts, and his posture as imposing as ever. I stood straighter, staring him square in the forehead.

"I have. Did you?"

An immediate change in his expression told me he had not, but he decided to state the obvious anyways. "No, so I need you to summarize it for me."

"Why should I do that?" I challenged. I could feel the eyes of classmates on us, and instead of feeling nervous it seemed to boost my confidence even more.

"Because you owe me one, comrade." Ivan hissed back, smiling his saccharine smile. Even with all the sweets I consumed on a daily, I could feel myself developing a cavity just looking at the Russian's face.

"Since when, Ivan?" I shot back, giving him my own splitting smile. "I don't recall owing you anything."

"That homework from last unit." Ivan replied. "Have you forgotten already?"

I frowned. He was right on that one-I had 'borrowed' his notes because I had been to lazy to do them on my own. I bit my cheek. "Fine. I'll write down a brief summary and give it to you at break."

"Sounds good." he said, and we eagerly parted. My head was boiling as I sat unceremoniously down in my seat at the front of the class.

English was really quite an annoying class, I felt. Even though I liked school, language arts-that's what they called it-never occurred to me as something I wanted to focus on. How was english art anyways? Letters weren't pretty, they were all the same. Unless you wrote in cursive, but I could not read handwriting if my life depended on it. I tapped the desk steadily, building an internal beat in my head.

"Hey."

I turned my head to see Hong nodding at me. His real name was Michael, but he hated it-said it was unoriginal-so everybody knew him as either Hong, or 'that kid that doesn't talk much.'

But I knew him well, well enough to know that when it came to talking, he had a whole lot to say if the topic interested him.

Hong pulled a chair up next to me, opening his messenger and taking out our english workbooks. I followed suit, though less willingly.

"So what's up?" I asked him, leaning my elbows onto the desk and giving him my full attention. He looked at me with the same nonchalant eyes, before shrugging.

"Tired." he said.

"Were you up playing Red Alert* again?" I asked. He nodded.

"Beat my old high score."

"Nice. Which level did you get to?"

"I got to he part with the border guards at the port." He replied. I hummed thoughtfully.

"Did you get all of them?"

"No, I missed one." he said. I shook my head in mock terror, to which he rolled his eyes. We changed the subject, him telling me about how there had been a riot in his street. Apparently there had been a gunshot, and the police came and investigated the area for hours on end. I sort of envied Hong-he always seemed so bored when in reality exciting things happened to him everyday. My neighbourhood was full of old people, who were certainly not the most entertaining people when it came to excitement.

"He's annoying." Hong told me. He was referring to his older brother again, I could tell. That one named Yu. Or Yao. I forgot.

"I don't know man," I replied. "I would kind of want a sibling, you know what I mean? It gets rather lonely when you don't have anyone to talk to."

"You don't understand." Hong said, and I could detect a small irritancy in his tone. He showed his emotional side to people he trusted somewhat, and that thought comforted me. "He always wants me to do this, or to do that, or not to do this or that. Siblings are just trouble. They don't understand you at all, but they think they know what's best for you. They are like parents, with less power."

"Hmm." I thought about the Vargas brothers. I always saw them arguing with one another, over meaningless little things. Then I thought about Natalia-Ivan's cute, but loony little sister. She was very pretty, and looked like someone I would want to hang around more, but her strange infatuation with her own brother was just slightly unnerving. But it was the Braginski family we were talking about, and they were all nutshells, one way or another.

Perhaps having a sibling really did mean more trouble.

The rest of english classed dragged on slowly. I felt my energy being stripped bare, and I had already eaten the last of my candy that was in my bag. Hong looked just about ready to die as well, as our heads sat on the desk.

When the bell rang, I said goodbye to Hong before springing up and making a dash to the door. I wanted to go see if there was any cupcakes down by the cafeteria. Sometimes, they sold sweets at break time. On my way down, I collided nose first into somebody's chest.

"Watch it, porker!" I heard a voice sneer. Looking up, I was met with red-tinged eyes and shocking white hair. The albino freak, I wanted to say aloud, but decided best against it because I did not want to cause more trouble.

"Hear me, Jonesy?" Gilbert Bielschmidt asked, looming a good head taller. "You watch where you're going."

"Oh come on, Gil." Antonio put his hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "Leave him alone."

"Oui, I agree with our dear spanish friend," came another voice. Francis Bonnefoy's head of blond curls popped up on the other side of the albino. "We have better things to do, non?"

"You guys are buzzkillers." Gilbert retorted. He gave my shoulder a firm shove. "Don't ever bump into me again, kid."

I nodded, fighting the boiling in my stomach. I ducked past them, and walked quickly away. Soon, they were completely out of earshot, and I broke out in a run.

Instead of heading to the cafeteria, I bolted straight into the washroom. Thankfully, no one was in it. I double checked the crack of each stall to see if there were any feet. When I was absolutely sure there was nobody but me, I headed to the mirror and leaned onto the sink.

I did look fat.

but maybe if I turned to my side like this...I stepped back, angling my body and staring at the reflection. I still remained the same. The same Alfred F Jones, with rounded cheeks and fleshy build. It used to be 'cute', people had told me. As you got older, however, the term cute was not coined in anymore, instead replaced by 'bulky' or 'fat.' I felt an anger bubbling in the back of my throat.

I was fat.

Fat Alfred Fucking Jones.

It shocked me, at first, that I had used the curse in my head. I had never been one to swear. Swearing was not for a proper boy to do. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I was growing up. The older kids swore. My parents swore. Why couldn't I?

The door to the washroom opened. In stepped a scrawny kid, his black hair in a bowl cut. He eyed me quickly before scurrying into a stall. I knew him from math class. Kiku Honda, the new Japanese boy in town.

Fuck, was he skinny.

and I hated him that.

The rest of the day was longer than it had ever been before. What made things especially worse was that I was noticing small details that I had never noticed before. Wherever I looked, people seemed to be thin. Not stick thin, yet a lot less bulky than I was. Save Braginski Jr, but he was a special case. Hong and I often made jokes about him, saying that 'everything was bigger in Russia.'

But where did that leave me?

I couldn't concentrate on my work. Mrs. Dubose's lecture flitted in one ear and out the other, as I stared down at my jeans. They felt tighter than normal around my waist.

"Are you okay, Alfred?" Hong asked me. I would have been happy that he was the one who initiated the conversation if I hadn't been so absorbed in staring at my stomach.

"I'm fine." I lied. He didn't question me further.

I don't know when Mrs. Dubose had stopped talking, but when I looked up, she was no longer in the room. I was aware of a heavy presence making its way towards me from the back.

"So do you have the summary?"

I looked up. Ivan smiled at me with his hands folded behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels childishly. For someone his size, his actions seemed a little off.

"No. I don't" I replied bluntly. There was a glint in his eyes, and it spelt trouble.

"Why not?" he asked, nicely.

"Because I forgot."

"I don't think that's a valid excuse." he said, his tone growing colder. I could feel Hong's stare on the back of my neck.

"This is America. I'll do what I want, when I want." I shot back. I was standing now, and I felt him leaning in closer. If he was trying to intimidate me, it was doing the exact opposite. In fact, I was becoming angrier by the second.

"A promise made is a debt unpaid. And you owe me one, friend."

"I'm not your fuckin' friend." I spat. A few tables away, I heard some girls stop their chats amongst themselves. I was pretty sure they were staring at us.

"My, what foul language. It won't get you anywhere." Ivan replied, as calm as ever. That was what always got to me-he always managed to look composed and mature, despite being the stupid little boy he always acted out to be. It always made me look like the bad guy. "swearing won't make you any cooler than you want to be, Alfred."

It takes two to play a game, I decided. I leaned back on my heel. "Oh? At least I don't bully younger grades for lunch money."

Ivan's eyes shone menacingly. "What was that?"

"You heard me," I smirked. "What was that kids name? Toris?" I lowered my voice, but kept it loud enough so that people around us could hear. "Don't think I don't see the horrible things you do to him when no one's looking."

"I do no such things, da." Ivan purred, much like an angry cat. I could tell I got to him, because he only said yes in russian when things agitated him. He was just as prone to snapping as I was, I realized.

"You can keep denying it. But I know the truth."

"How can you know the truth?" Ivan scoffed. "You are a fountain that spouts lies."

"And you are too."

He stopped, pursing his lips and furrowing his large brows at me. I stared straight as his huge, ugly nose, imagining the various ways I could go about breaking it.

"We are the same, You and I," Ivan finally spoke. "I am you mirror reflection, Alfred. You can keep denying it. But I know the truth as well."

The next moment unravelled in a haze. My fist went flying through the air, landing a resounding crash onto his nose. I heard gasps around me, and the pained yowl that escaped Ivan's mouth. All the pent in steam, and the desire to crush the russian in front of me evaporated as I stared at my hand with a slack jaw. Before I could do anything else, however, I felt a blow to the side of my ribs. My temple collided with Hong's chair.

Someone was screaming, but my vision was to blurred and I couldn't find the source of the noise. Instead, I saw the large vague shape of Ivan, as he pinned my legs down with his own and set heavy punches to my chest. I raised my arms in defence, before striking back and delivering my own blows to his face. I tasted copper in my mouth and felt a searing pain down my hip.

"WHAT IS GOING ON!"

The attacks stopped, as I looked up to see Mrs. Dubose standing over us. Her eyes were positively popping from their sockets, her face redder than a tomato. I felt my voice frozen in my throat.

"To the office. The both of you. Now."

I felt a large weight being lifted from my torso, as Ivan stood up shakily. The circulation returned to my legs as I struggled to my feet, with the help of Hong. My head pounded crazily as I swayed on the spot. Nobody spoke a word.

"Follow me." Mrs. Dubose's tone sent chills down my spine. I kept my head down as I filed out of the class, right behind Ivan. I glared at his broad back. It was all his fault.

The office was a foreboding place. I have visited it a few times before in the past, but only to make a phone call or two home. As we stepped in, the secretary smiled at me, before her expression changed into a sceptical one. This time around, I was a troublemaker, she must have figured. I returned my gaze to the floor.

"Explain yourselves." Mrs. Dubose demanded. I felt sweat sliding down the back of my neck. Before I could say anything, Ivan beat me to it.

"It was an accident, Mrs. Dubose. We got a little over enthusiastic about something." Ivan assured. His voice was smooth, but I could only guess how scared he was inside. She turned to me, and I nodded my head eagerly.

"It was a mistake. A friendly romping, but it got out of hand. We promise it will never, ever happen again."

Before Mrs. Dubose could tell us off, the pager went off. She frowned before turning a stern stare at us. "I will let it pass this once because you both were very good students before this happened. If any more troubles occur, however, I will not let you go so easily."

"Yes." We both said. She dismissed us before hurrying off to answer her call.

I didn't look at Ivan the whole way back to class. We walked at the opposite ends of the hallways, with quiet footsteps. When we re-entered the classroom, all heads turned on us.

On us. The fat kids.

I ignored the stares and made my way to my desk. Hong didn't say anything as I opened my textbook and started on the review questions. I worked until the end of class, and without saying goodbye, packed away my books and headed home.

When I arrived at the door, I slowed down upon seeing a foreign, silver car parked on our driveway. Were there guests over at our house? I quickly inspected the vehicle, which seemed spotless and shone in the sun, before skipping up the front porch and knocking on the door.

My mother opened the door. She was not dressed in her cozy grey sweater like she normally was, instead wearing a nice silk blouse with her hair tied back in a very neat bun. She had make up on, too.

"Alfred, welcome home."

"Hey, why's there a car in our driveway?" I asked, while removing my sneakers and placing them onto the shoe rack. I saw my mother smoothing out the crease in her black skirt as she smiled a wan smile. Father appeared at the foyer. It wasn't just the fact that he was not at work that surprised me, but he was also dressed better than normal, with his hair slicked back and wearing a smart black suit.

"We have a surprise for you, Alfred." my father said. I usually loved surprises, but I did not like where this was going. Something felt wrong.

"What surprise?" I asked hesitantly. My mother shuffled beside me.

"We want you to meet your brother." she said, gently.

My eyes flew open. "My brother?"

"He's your half brother." My father explained. Immediately, I felt my chest clench in the same way it did when Braginski had said I was the same as him. Except this time, I was too tired to start a rebellion so I just went along with it.

So that was what mom had meant that night when they were yelling at each other. I might have been clueless at times, but that didn't make me completely stupid. All the words seemed to piece together, and I couldn't help the immense feeling of betrayal, settling into my lungs.

"Where is he?" my voice was so cheerful, that it shocked even me. My parents flinched, and for a moment I was scared that they saw right through my act. However, the next instant relief washed over their faces as they motioned to the living room.

"He's waiting in the family room," mom said. I nodded and followed them down the hall. It didn't feel like the hallway in my house anymore-it wasn't the same, welcome place I came home to everyday after school. I stopped right at the entrance, my shoulders stiff.

There sitting on the blue chair-MY blue chair, that only I sat on-was a slender, pale boy. His blond hair was choppy, and he looked pretty frail despite the older appearance he donned. His sharp, emerald eyes landed on me, but that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the dark, bushy brows that sat like fuzzy caterpillars on his forehead that had me entranced.

There was no way in HELL he was my brother.

But there he was, sitting on MY chair as if he had been all his life, eyeing me with an expression that read he plainly couldn't care less whose life he was imposing on. He set the book in his hand down onto the coffee table, and stood up. I found my legs carrying me to him on my own accord. An awkward moment passed, before he stuck out his hand. "Hey, I'm Arthur." he said.

"Alfred." I replied, taking his hand in my. They were bony, and cold. "It's really nice to meet you. I've always wanted a brother."

"I'm quite glad."

His palms were as sweaty as mine, or maybe it was just me, and I pulled away happily.

"How about you two get to know each other more?" my mother smiled. "It's sunny out. You boys should go out and play."

We both nodded, him out of politeness, and me out of obligation. Mother's words were law, after all.

Arthur moved fluidly down the house and into our backyard. What unnerved me was he moved as if he had lived here all his life. I was very uncomfortable with how much at ease he seemed with his surroundings, the surroundings that took me a whole life to get used to.

As we stepped onto the lawn in the afternoon sun, he turned to me. His lean frame seemed illuminated by the sun's rays. "So how about some football?"

"Sure, I guess." I replied. I went to the storage shed to fetch my old football. However, when I came out with it cradled in my arms, he just stared at me as though I were an alien.

"What in the name is that?" he asked me.

"It's a football." I replied. "Just like you wanted."

"No, it's not." he replied. I narrowed my eyes.

"It IS."

"Football is a ball, that's black and white, that you kick with your FOOT."

"That's SOCCER." I replied haughtily. I dropped the ball onto the grass, crossing my arms.

"No, that's FOOTBALL. I don't know what you Americans are talking about."

"Well, I'm sorry to say this, but now that you're in America, you're going to run by our rules, and live by our ways." I retorted.

Arthur said nothing, at first. We had a stare down, where neither of us moved. Finally, he spoke. "So do you have a FOOTBALL that we could play with?" he asked. I snorted.

"Yes, we have a SOCCERBALL that we could use." I scooped the football from off the lawn and turned sharply on my heel, towards the storage shed.

I had a new brother.

And I hated him already.

* * *

><p>l<span>lol I hope you guys like it so far! I actually have a plan to where this is going this time and I really like this theme. So please review if you spot any grammatical errors, since I don't have a spellcheck, or just give me some plain feedback! That way I will be more motivated to continue!<span>

-Sunny


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Hetalia, which is (c) Hidekaz.

**EDIT: I changed the title from British Nightmare to "His Green Eyes," after hearing a song by coldplay, called Green Eyes. It was acsolutely perfect for this story I feel. Search it up! It is a song worth listening to! 3**

Hey everyone! I just wanted to start off by saying thank you to all who favourited this story, added it to their alerts, or reiewed! It really makes a difference when you do these things, because it shows me that people want to read more of what I write and encourages me to write more! So thank you very very much :)

To answer some questions, This entire story will be told from Alfred's point of view. This way, you as the reader will have to think for yourselves a bit-you will have to keep in mind that not everything Alfred narrates is true; it's form his POV and his opinions, so naturally he could misinterpret situations or others' intentions, feelings, etc. I feel this will make the story much more engaging and dynamic for the reader.

As for the pairings concerning this story, it will remain USUK. There will be other pairings thrown in, such as slight FrUk (I know some people don't like it, but I find it adds so much more to the angst) Will there be Canada in it? You can bet! I also have other minor characters pairings that you will catch a glimpse of once in a while, such as RoChu (because I'm not going to deny my OTP), some Franada, HungaryxPrussia, Gerita. 

And I would like to hear your opinion on what you think about the pace of the story. It is rather long-do you guys think I'm wasting too much time on little details, should I pick up the pace? Please help me out, because you guys are the audience and the people I'm writing for. Your feedback makes a world of a difference. Right now, Arthur and Alfred are 13 adn12, in middle school-but don't worry, we'll get past this stage and there will be some appropriate, mature situations in later chapters! (I rated this M for a reason guys, so don't panic)

That's all for now. Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more!

-Sunny

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

* * *

><p>There was the sound of the running tap. It had been running for quite a while now.<p>

I banged my fists on the door. "What's taking you so long?" I hollered.

The running water stopped, and I heard a muffled, but equally agitated reply. "I am getting ready, you git."

"Why does it take you so long?" I growled back, checking my watch. It had been ten minutes already. TEN.

"Five minutes is not a long time." Arthur shouted back at me through the door. "Even people with low maintenance spend some time in the washroom."

"How can people with low maintenance spend this amount of time in the bathroom? They don't even MAINTAIN themselves, for god's sake." I shifted my weight from foot to foot. "Hurry it up! I gotta take a leak!"

"Well I need to finish!"

"I never take so long to get ready!" By now I was dancing on my toes, trying to suppress my urge to release everything on the wooden floorboards.

"Only ugly people don't groom properly in the morning." came Arthur's arrogant reply.

"Well," I countered, trying to think up something better. "Only faggots take so long in the washroom, 'cause they're girly and not normal." It had sounded so much better in my head. But however dumb it sounded aloud, it seemed to have an affect on Arthur, because the next instant he was out, his hair damp and his eyes livid.

"What did you call me?"

I shrank back. Even though I had grown a bit, he was still some good inches taller than me. And he looked positively murderous.

"Nothing." I replied. "Can I please use the toilet now?"

He snorted, but let me pass him, and I eagerly shut the door. The air was very hot and humid from the shower he had just taken, and the mirror was slightly fogged up. How many showers did a guy have to take in a day anyway? I was pretty sure that not even a girl cared for their appearance as much as Arthur did his.

When I was done-which hardly took five minutes-I headed downstairs to grab some breakfast. As usual, Arthur was already there, with a mug of black coffee and a newspaper on his lap. It was absurd, to think a thirteen year old would want to drink coffee, let along BLACK coffee. He looked so old, flipping through the newsprint. I figured he was trying too hard to be grown up.

"Hey, old man, where's breakfast?" I smirked, while flopping down onto my spot at the kitchen table. My mother was not at home this morning. She had recently found a job which she really liked at a publishing company downtown. I think she once told me she was an intern there or something. I wasn't really listening.

"Bagels and cream cheese."

"Ugh."

Arthur glared at me from over his coffee. "You ungrateful little brat."

"Well, hey," I popped a frozen bagel into the toaster and leaned onto the counter. "Anything is better than your attempts at cooking."

"I would throttle you if I was not so intrigued by this article."

"I'd like to see you try." In truth I actually wouldn't. Arthur looked frail, but if he really put his mind to it, I was sure he could whip my ass. I would never tell him that, of course.

"You've been saying the same thing for weeks now. It is getting old." Arthur took the last gulp of his coffee and went to the sink. He began scrubbing the cup. "Your bagel is burning."

I flinched before pressing the eject button on our toaster. Stupid toaster, I thought. For some reason, it never allowed whatever I put into it to pop out of its own accord. It probably hated me.

I sat down at the table, cramming the bagel into my mouth. I could feel Arthur watching me from my peripherals.

"No cream cheese?" he asked.

"I'm too lazy to go to the fridge." I lied. He saw right through it.

"Come on, now." Arthur put away his cup and made his way towards me. "You are not fat. You need to take this whole weight loss thing less seriously."

"Easy for you to say." I snapped, between a mouthful of bagel. Arthur said nothing as he stood still and stared.

"If you joined more sports at school, you would see a difference in no time." Arthur said as he sat down on the chair opposite me.

"Like hell I would." I leaned back and glared at him. "You don't join any. Why don't you?"

"Sports are not my forte." he replied with a wave of his hand.

"If you can't do it yourself, then don't tell me what to do."

"I was simply making a suggestion."

I ignored him for the rest of the morning, heading to my room to change into something for school. I didn't notice he stood at my doorway, until I looked up.

"What do you want?" I moaned in exasperation. The look he was giving my room was the exact same look my mother gave it when she was on her monthly period.

"Your room is a complete pigsty."

"Is that all you have to say?" I sneered while pulling a blue sweater over my head. "Is your life so meaningless now that you have to interfere with others' lives to feel satisfied?"

"Shut your trap." he rolled his eyes. Then, he scrunched his nose. "And what in the name is that stench?"

"That would be french fries." I replied.

"Do not," he seethed. "mention anything FRENCH."

I smirked. It had completely slipped my mind that Arthur liked to avoid anything that involved the French culture. Personally, I was quite neutral with Francis. He neither defended me, nor picked on me, so I couldn't exactly say he was my enemy. But for Arthur, Francis was an entirely different case. I was a pretty firm believer in destiny, and it didn't take me very long to distinguish that they were destined to hate each other from the second they met. Mostly, it just appeared that Bonnefoy liked to interact with Arthur in some friendly teasing, but Arthur never took it all that well.

"Are you quite done? You've been standing there like a fool for a minute now." Arthur tapped his foot impatiently.

"Why are you still here?"

"Why the bloody else do you think?" he snapped. "It's my job to walk with you to school."

"Right. 'Cause I need protection from a weak prissy." I slung my backpack over my shoulders and stomped out of the room. He followed right behind, and I could only imagine the glares he was sending me to the back of my head.

Our walk to the bus stop was silent. We didn't even look at each other. And I was completely fine with that.

We were just nearing the corner of the sidewalk. I squinted at the lights. We still had five seconds to get across the street. I stole a quick glance Arthur's way and found him a good couple of paces behind me, walking very slowly. It was now or never to get away from him, I decided.

I wasn't exactly the fastest runner around-heck, I wasn't even a runner, but when I put my head to it, nothing could stop me. The red numbers were flashing dangerously low as I bolted for the road. I heard a car coming from the side, but the adrenaline was surging through my veins and the blood was pumping in my head so hard that I could hardly hear the scream behind me.

"Alfred!"

The next moment, there was the horrible, high pitched screech of tires against pavement, a smell of burning rubber, and someone's hand grasping onto my arm in a bruising grip. I looked to my left, to see the car's hood, perilously close to my leg. I turned back, to see Arthur's wide, green eyes staring at me through his choppy hair. He didn't say a word and simply continued to grip my arm like it was his only lifeline. I was stupid.

So stupid.

"What," Arthur's voice was shaky and cracked. "What were you THINKING?"

I pulled away, my face red and I felt my lower lip tremble. "I wasn't"

"Bloody HELL you weren't!" Arthur exclaimed. His expression turned from dazed, to furious. He retracted his hand from my arm, and looked as if he could really strangle me, if we weren't out in the public. "You FOOL. YOU UTTER, COMPLETE FOOL."

I bit my cheek and took his verbal lashing. I think people from across the street were staring at us.

It was then that the owner of the car came out, and Arthur stopped. I didn't have the guts to look at the driver. Arthur took the initiative, something I was grateful for.

"I am terribly sorry sir," Arthur apologized. "This boy was not using his head when he wanted to cross the street. I am extremely sorry for causing you so much trouble."

"It's fine, really." I heard the driver say. His voice was light and smooth, and he sounded rather cheerful. That, however, didn't mean he had nothing to say to me. "You need to be more careful, kid. There will be a time, if you keep going like this, that someone will not stop for you."

I looked up, to see a set of warm brown eyes and a pleasant, slender face. What caught my attention was that he had long, black hair, tied back into a ponytail. Usually, I hated guys with long hair-they reminded me of the hippies that mom told me about in the 60s. However, this man was no hippy. He actually pulled off the hair rather well. Something about him stuck me as extremely familiar-but I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

Arthur's sharp jab to my rib brought me back to reality. I coughed, my wide eyes staring into the stranger's. "I'm really, really sorry! Please forgive me. I promise I won't ever do something so stupid again!"

The man chuckled. "You're not promising for me. You are promising for yourself, and your future. Take care, and be more mindful next time."

Both Arthur and I watched as he climbed back into the car. We nodded before racing off to the other side-after checking the streets, of course.

I expected Arthur to go back to lashing out at me, but instead he was eerily quiet. It made me feel nervous, as I cast secretive glances his way. I couldn't see his face, though, because he was turned away and taking very fast steps. I figured he was probably just embarrassed and annoyed at me, so I kept my mouth shut.

When we arrived at the bus stop, it was deserted. We probably missed it, I realized. It made me feel even more guilty as he took a seat onto the bench. I remained standing.

"Why did you bolt across the street Alfred?" Arthur asked. His tone wasn't angry. It wasn't reprimanding, either, simply a question. I looked at him to see him staring straight back at me. I couldn't understand the expression on his face. Deciding it was safe to answer, I replied.

"I wanted to get away from you."

It wasn't what I had planned out to say at all. The thoughts that had been running through my mind were apologies, but I guess my mouth had a life of its own.

Watching Arthur's reaction was similar to that of watching one of those slow motion pictures. I saw his thick eyebrows rise up, and his jaw grow slack. Then the corner of his lip twitched, and a wrinkle appeared on his forehead. There was a moment of utter hurt in his eyes. I felt like a complete dick.

I looked down to the concrete. When I next gathered enough will to look at him again, his face was turned in a different direction. I reached out my hand to touch his shoulders, but I quickly drew back when his head snapped my way.

"You can hate me all you want. But I do not want to be responsible for your death."

The bus came rolling to a stop, and without looking at me, Arthur headed straight for its door.

We sat in different locations. Arthur always chose the front seat by the window, and I made my way to the very back. I liked it there because you could really feel the speed bumps when the wheels went over them.

At school, things between me and Arthur were very different. It was as if we didn't even know of each others' existence. It was probably for the better, but passing him in the hallways with not one glance or greeting felt sort of odd. It had been like that for four months though, so I had gotten used to it.

Hong was waiting for me by the front entrance of the school. His face was ever the same, passive and blank. But my trained eyes detected the spark of warmth when he saw me walking his way.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He was the only one who knew I had a brother-or half-brother, should I say. I trusted him, and knew he wouldn't betray my trust. I didn't want the news that my father fucked another woman to spread throughout the school. I was trying to keep my reputation down already, what with being unattractive and all.

"Yao's going to work here."

I looked up from my papers. Hong's large brows were pushed against his dark eyes, and a heavy frown was set on his lips.

"What do ya mean?"

"My brother, he's a social services worker. His company sent him to work here."

"Oh." I chewed the tip of my pencil thoughtfully. "You mean he's gonna be a counsellor?"

Hong nodded. "To replace the one that left."

"You mean the one that got scared away by Braginski." I said. Hong nodded again. "What really happened, though? I heard all these different versions of what that oaf did, but you're the most reliable person I know so I want to hear it from you."

"I'm not so sure either," Hong replied. "I just know that Ivan made her very upset and wouldn't stop pestering her. Eventually she had enough and left."

Mrs. Davis used to be out school counsellor, and she had been a very gentle lady. I liked her a whole lot, because she would always greet me with the brightest smile you'd ever see, every single time I saw her. It was like the sun never stopped shining in her world-and to think that someone could make her so miserable that she wanted to leave was an aggravating thought. Especially since it was fuckin' Braginski's fault. Ever since the riot we had in science class, we hadn't spoken a word to each other, and I liked to keep it that way.

"I guess you're gonna have to tell your brother to be careful," I told Hong as I began my essay. "Braginski's a sick fucker."

"I know. My brother will be fine though." Hong replied. "There's nothing he can't handle."

Sometimes I didn't understand Michael. One minute, he would be angry at his brother, and the next he would be praising him to no end.

My eyes were hurting as I stared at my own writing. I absolutely hated english. Every time I had thought I knew what I was going to write about, I would never be able to place it out properly onto a piece of paper. Things sounded better in my head than they looked on my homework sheets.

"I hate writing this shit." I grumbled as my lead snapped for the millionth time. I began to sharpen the tip again.

"Isn't Arthur really good at English?" Hong asked. "Why don't you just go to him for some help?"

"No way. He'd eat a burger before helping me." I said. I knew that was a lie, though. If I asked him for help in literature, he would be directing me in a heartbeat, but I didn't want to be instructed and lectured for hours on end, so I never brought myself to asking him for assistance.

The break came quicker than I thought it would. Perhaps it was because I had been so absorbed in trying to make a good essay. Trying.

My stomach was growling from hunger, and it felt empty as I trudged along the hallway. I kept close to the wall, trying to make myself as invisible as I could. I was entering dangerous waters-the area where the trio of assholes hung out. Or rather, the albino asshole and his two lackeys.

Luck wasn't on my side today. It never really was.

"Hey! Look who came crawling by!"

I moaned while picking up my pace. But I could hear more footsteps closing in on me. Their legs were longer, after all.

"Where do you think you're going, Alfie?"

I turned to face them. Gilbert's eyes were glowing as he grinned with bared teethe. Antonio didn't look like he cared much at all, and was a few paces back, leaning on a locker. He saw me looking at him and smiled kindly, something that didn't seem appropriate for the situation at all. Francis was lounging in the back as well, his face as neutral as ever.

"I'm going to my next class." I replied. My voice was cold, just how I wanted it to be.

"That doesn't start until breaks over, honey, and we have five minutes."

I stared at Gilbert's hair. It was so blonde that is was white, and it reminded me of clouds. I hated clouds. They were always in the way of nice, sunny blue skies.

There was a sound of someone approaching us from the side.

"Leave Alfred alone."

I looked up.

Arthur was standing straight, his arms crossed over his chest, and his trademark scowl spread on his face. Gilbert frowned.

"Why? You know this brat?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Arthur replied. He gave the trio a level-headed stare. "And if you do not stop what you are doing now, there will be consequences."

"Kah!" Gilbert burst out laughing. "You serious, buddy? You think you're so tough, don't you?"

Antonio and Francis exchanged glances. There was something I didn't like about the way the frenchman's eyes glinted.

"Hey, Gil, I didn't you say you had to give Ludwig his papers back? If you don't go now, you aren't gonna catch him." Antonio said. Gilbert's eyes widened.

"Aw, crap! I think I'm late."

"Let's go then," Antonio pressed on. "He's going to be angry again."

The two hurried off, having forgotten everything that had just happened. Which left Francis behind.

"Ah, what a day!" Francis exclaimed. He completely ignored me, instead turning all focus onto Arthur. "What brings you here, Mr. Kirkland?"

"Shut your trap, frog." Arthur spat back. "I do not wish to be infected with your disease."

"You don't wish for it now, but you will later on."

Arthur bristled but said nothing. Then he turned to me. "And you! Why is it that I always have to save your butt!"

"Save my butt?" I echoed. "I never asked for you to do such a thing! You always do it on your own accord!"

"It is because I have to! It's my responsibility!" Arthur retorted. He flashed me a furious look.

Francis stood still, with a confused expression on his face. He laughed. "You sound like you're his mother, angleterre."

That did Arthur, apparently, because he stormed off. I didn't stop him, but simply watched.

"So how do you know him?"

I looked over to Francis, who was finally acknowledging my existence. He raised a brow at me.

"We're acquainted." I replied. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"You should work on getting some more strength into yourself, dear." Francis told me as he patted my shoulder. "Then, you won't have to deal with his nasty little temper."

"I CAN defend myself." I argued. Francis just shook his head.

"Whatever you say. But on another note, I would like to ask a favour of you." he drew out a slip of paper from his jean pockets, and pressed it into my hands. "Since you seem to have a way to contact him more than I myself can, would you be so kind as to give this to him for me?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Merci, mon ami." Francis winked as he put his hands into his pockets and started to leave.

I didn't look at the paper until I was safely in the washroom. I unfolded it, to see numbers written in small black print. Phone numbers.

Quietly, I crumpled it up, and flushed it down the toilet.

* * *

><p>Arthur didn't look at me when I stepped onto the bus home, and he didn't look at me even when I got off. He walked a good distance ahead of me, with his long strides. I wished my legs were longer sometimes, just so I could out-walk him. Dad was pretty tall, and mother wasn't short either so I didn't have a bad chance of growing taller.<p>

I looked at the large, grassy field to the right of the sidewalk. Some kids were running around, throwing a football at to each other. I found myself thinking, for the first time in my life, that I actually sort of wanted to join in.

I wanted to be normal.

I wanted to be stronger.

I wanted Arthur to stop coming into my defence.

Then what Francis said to me popped back into my head. Maybe, just maybe I would work on my fitness. Anything to make sure I wouldn't have to depend on Arthur to interrupt my life.

When I got home, the first thing I did was head to my room. I quickly peeled off my heavy sweater. I scoured my closet for a plain black shirt, and after a few minutes, found one. I pulled that on, as well as some gym shorts. I grabbed my stopwatch, which I had no memory of ever using, and made my way down the stairs.

Arthur was outside on the front porch. He was sitting on the lounge chair, with a thick looking book in his hands. He looked up as I closed the door behind me. He opened his mouth, then closed it and turned back to whatever he was reading. I looked at him for a second longer, before starting a slight jog down our driveway.

"Watch both ways when crossing the road!" I heard him yell as I turned the corner of our house. For some reason, I felt my heart fluttering and a smile tugging onto my lips. I figured it was the fresh air, so I just ignored it.

I don't think I had ever run myself so hard before. My entire back was damp, and I could feel the way my shirt stuck to my flesh like a second skin. I didn't know how long I ran myself, but the small voice in my head didn't allow me to stop even when I wanted to. I just kept going, with the steady thumping of my runners on the pavement, and the pulsing heart against my ribcage.

I arrived at my front yard after what seemed like an eternity. I finally allowed myself to glance at the stopwatch. My eyes flew open in amazement as the green numbers read that I had been running, non-stop, for an hour. I couldn't believe it. My body was exhausted, but as I stood on the lawn, panting and flushed, I felt a sense of immense accomplishment. And it felt good.

I think I had been wrong when I said I couldn't run. On the contrary, I was pretty good at it, and since it was my first time really running out of my own will, I did a pretty darn good job of it. I sniffed my shirt collar, which was drenched, and decided I needed a shower.

When I came out of the bathroom, I felt as refreshed and happy as ever. In fact, I don't remember having been so content in a while, and for once, my contentment didn't involve food.

I was so happy, that I entered my room and dug through my backpack. I drew out my english binder, tucked it under my shoulder, and walked out into the hallway. I stopped in front of the door at the end, and gave it two sharp raps.

Arthur opened the door. He looked at me in surprise. "Hey."

I took the binder from out beneath my arms, and looked at him straight in the eyes. "I need to write a proper English essay. Can you please help me?"

I don't think I had seen a brighter smile in my life, and I certainly didn't think it would fit Arthur. But strangely, it did, and I vowed to myself that I wanted to see it on him more.

The following few hours, I learned more about Arthur than I had in the past few months. He was very strict when it came to grammar, that was for sure. He yelled at me for using improper language structures, or for using abbreviations at the wrong places. When I rolled my eyes and told him to calm down, he would become more flustered and yell even more. Somehow, that didn't detract from the pleasure I got from having him as company. I wasn't sure if Hong ever bonded with his older brother like this, but I really wanted to tell him about it the next day that I met him at school.

Arthur wasn't a nasty, bitter boy, I realized. He would pretend not to care about something, or to be scarier than he really was. Inside he was actually a softy for strange things, like bunnies and fuzzy animals. He also really liked fantasy stories, because his shelves were lined with volumes upon volumes of children's fairytales. I found it odd but didn't question him. It was nice, I thought, to see a sensitive, quirky side of him that I knew no one else probably saw. It made me feel special, and I liked to feel special.

"Were you listening, you brat?" Arthur frowned as I looked into his green eyes.

"I wasn't" I replied honestly. Arthur scowled.

"And why the bloody hell not?"

"Your eyes are really green." I stated. He seemed taken aback. "People used to say you couldn't trust green eyes, because they showed a person that was cold, calculating and deceptive." My mouth was moving on its own accord, and try as I might, I couldn't stop it from continuing. Arthur looked like he was ready to strangle me. "But I'm sure that the person who said those words, has never met anyone like you."

There was a heavy silence that filled the room. Arthur stared at me, and I stared back. His eyebrows were twitching, and I would have found it comical if I hadn't been so focused on his eyes. His cheeks turned a shade of crimson, and he averted his gaze to the maroon carpet. It didn't just stop at his cheeks-the redness seemed to continue spreading all over his face, and for a moment I was afraid he might collapse and have a stroke or something.

"Are you okay?" I asked cautiously.

"Of course I am okay! You stupid git." he was spluttering. I felt a smile forming on my lips. When I saw him like that, all embarrassed and pink, I always felt a slight tingling in my toes.

Just then, we both heard the doorbell ring. Sighing, Arthur stood, the red in his face slowly fading out. "Who could it be?"

"Iunno." I replied. I was curious too, though more irritated. I don't know why.

I followed Arthur out his room, and down towards the foyer. I sat at the foot of the stairs while Arthur went to unlock the door. All I had to hear was the unmistakeable accent to recognize the stranger at our door.

"Ah, Salut Arthur!"

"What the bloody hell do you want, fool?" Arthur snapped back.

"To return this." I heard the voice say. "You left it on your desk, and I didn't think you'd be happy if it were to be stolen."

"Of course I wouldn't!" I saw Arthur reaching out to grab something. It was a small, brown journal. Or diary. I couldn't tell. He then lowered his voice. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"So do I get something a reward for my efforts?"

"You should be glad you even got a thank you from me." came Arthur's cold reply, and I didn't have to think twice to know the truth behind that.

"But I came all this way to your house, and finding the address wasn't easy either!"

"Who the bloody hell gave you my address?" Arthur asked. And before he could go on any further, he was pulled around the waist by white-sleeved arms, and his a muffled sound came fro his mouth. I shot up from my spot on the floor and bolted to the door.

Francis had his lips pressed against Arthur's arms, which was jammed firmly in-between their faces. Arthur himself was struggling to pry his way out from Francis' arms. A familiar feeling entered my chest. It was the same feeling that I had when Braginski sent a blow to my head. My foot was sent hurtling into Francis' knee.

"Merde!" he swore as he released his grip on Arthur, cradling his injured joint. He turned to see who the offender was, and his blue eyes opened wide as they landed on me.

"Don't touch Arthur!" I shouted. My blood was boiling and my fists were balled. "You sick freak!"

"Are you two," Francis looked towards Arthur. "Brothers?"

Arthur glowered at the other, but nodded, while vigorously wiping his lips with his arm. "He is. The best, damn bloody brother I could ever wish for."

My heart soared at his words. I felt my anger dying down, dribbling away onto the doormat. But the look in Francis' eyes sent a burning chill down my spine.

"Brothers? So you two are related by blood." he muttered, almost as if to himself. Then he smiled a smile that reminded me of a predator that had cornered its dinner. "Good, good. I'll see you around, then Arthur? and you too, little brother."

I watched as he retreated from out yard, and was half-satisfied when I noticed the slight limp in which he was walking by. Arthur was cursing like there was no tomorrow, but I wasn't listening. Somewhere in my head, I knew that all my troubles were just beginning.

* * *

><p><span>I'm not trying to make France an asshole, guys. He's not. He just likes to fuck around. teehhee, but there will be some fruk parts. Be forewarned.<span>

Please reviews! I reply to all my reviews, as they are much cherished. In addition, I want corrections on grammar cause I don't use spellcheck (I'm a lazy mofo)

So you in chapter 3! :D


End file.
